


There She Is

by CaptainTarthister



Series: From Across the Room [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love at First Sight, Mature for some language, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrion takes Jaime on a mission to secure Margaery's preferred bridal cake. Jaime grouses until he meets the baker--Brienne Tarth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There She Is

Early Saturday morning found the Evenstar Bakery & Café packed. The line at the counter was long as people still flushed and sweating from their run or power walk at the park one block away thought to reward themselves with a latte and one of the restaurant’s heavenly sugary concoctions of cupcakes and other creamy pastries. Two counters took charge of these orders. Another oversaw the pick-up for advance orders of pastries. This too saw a long line.

Jaime Lannister, frowning at the crowd in the shoebox-sized place, gave a huge, rude yawn that emphasized how much of a bored lion he looked at the moment. Being surrounded by food topped with clouds stolen from every color of the rainbow was not helping. There was also the strong aroma of sugar, butter and flour. It made him want to curl up and sleep. Rubbing his green eyes, he glared at his younger brother Tyrion.

“Remind me again why we’re cheek-to-jowl with these people at eight a.m. on a Saturday,” he complained as he guided a cup of coffee to his slim lips.

“Because Margaery would probably kill me if we don’t get her wedding cake from here,” Tyrion answered, letting out a long-suffering sigh.  
“Her wedding cake? Don’t you mean yours and hers?”

“I don’t give a fuck about cakes. I don’t give a fuck about lavish ceremonies where our dear father would once again match that old bat Olenna Tyrell for every golden dragon spent. I just want to marry the girl of my dreams. Unfortunately, the wedding of her dreams is every bit of my nightmare come true.”

“I _told_ you about that one,” Jaime reminded him smugly.

Margaery Tyrell was a nice enough girl. Okay, she was more than nice. It was rare for someone from old money to do actual work for a living. Jaime respected her for that, and was glad that Tyrion didn’t lose his oversized head over one of those starved, dazed-eyed models he used to date. Nevertheless, Margaery Tyrell was your typical female: she cried to get her way, smiled to get her way, and, though Tyrion would deny it death, used sex to get her way. Jaime shuddered inwardly. He liked women, he enjoyed them. But that’s what they were for, to be enjoyed. You didn’t bring them home, you didn’t let them stay the night. Not to mention that there was no woman built to not entice a man to insanity. That was why they were born knowing how to flip their luscious hair, drop their eyes and coyly look at you through their curled lashes. Hells, that was the reason for boobs, no matter the cup size. And Margaery had a good pair.

“ _That one,_ ” Tyrion growled at him, “is my fiancée, you idiot.”

“Fine. I’m just giving you a hard time. Why did you have to bring me? Why not her?”

“Because it would mean sampling cakes and she has a dress to fit into.” 

“The wedding is three months away.”

“Better if we wait until next year, yes, but neither of us wants to be apart for ten months. And we were planning to get married next year until the Dorne thing threw a monkey wrench to that,” Tyrion told him. Due to Margaery’s work with women’s rights and welfare, she was granted a fellowship in Dorne. 

“I still don’t understand why I have to be with you. You can do this yourself. You can’t be scared of some baker.” Jaime said, lounging back. As he did, two girls on the table next to them, one brunette, another with dirty blond hair, smiled at him. Jaime flashed them his perfect, even whites and dimples. Pretty girls, he thought. But uninteresting. He knew right away they'd be too starry-eyed at him to form a coherent sentence. That got old after a while. He needed a challenge. 

“Of course I’m not. But I heard that she requires clients at least a year to get a fucking cake out of her,” Tyrion said. “I thought that if I show up with a handsome, charming companion, she’ll soften that stance a bit.”

“Seven bloody hells,” Jaime swore. “You got me out of bed goddamned early to seduce some baker?”

Tyrion’s black and green eyes bored hard on him. “Jaime, this isn’t the time to add to your underwear collection.”

“Hey! That was uncalled for!” Jaime protested.

“Oh, don’t fuck with me, Jaime. This is me you’re talking to. One look at you and women open their legs. Or get down on their knees.” 

Jaime glared at him. An exaggeration. Fine. No woman had ever said no to him. Well, his twin sister Cersei but that was because blood made her immune to his god-like looks and infinite charm. But yeah, women as a rule did not refuse him. His shoulder-length, thick, golden waves was straight out of a shampoo commercial. His eyes were not just green, they were emeralds. His nose and lips were sculpted by artisans and his jaw was the personification of chiseled. Add that he was six-foot-two, broad-shouldered and muscular with lean hips and only a woman with several parts missing in her brain would tell him no. 

Tyrion, on the other hand, was the grotesque opposite. His hair was lank and more pale blond than golden. His hairline was receding and he was only in his early thirties. A dwarf, his head was quite big for his shoulders and his arms and legs were stunted. His green and black eyes were unsettling at first but for Jaime, his baby brother was the smartest, funniest, and kindest person he knew. As high-maintenance as Margaery was, he was glad Tyrion had found someone who saw him as he was—a good man— and loved him for it. 

“Excuse me, uh, Pod,” Tyrion said to a dark-haired server passing their table. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt, khaki pants and a dark blue apron around his waist. His nameplate told them his name. “By any chance, is the, uh, you know, is the baker around? You know. Her.”

Pod’s thick eyebrows almost met as he frowned. “Uh, sir, which baker? We have a couple of bakers.”

“The boss of them. The woman. You know, she's known for her muffins.”

"Cupcakes," Jaime corrected him. He sniffed appreciatively at the sweet aroma. "And cakes."

“Oh! Brienne. Brienne Tarth. She’s over there.” And Pod pointed.

Jaime and Tyrion looked to where he was pointing.

Even from a distance, it was clear she was already the ugliest woman Jaime had laid eyes on. Her hair was a short, cropped mess of pale straw that stuck out in all directions. She was heavily freckled, from her hairline down to her chest which was exposed by the collar of her white shirt. Broad shoulders, thick wrists, no breasts to speak of, no waistline—hells, not even the slightest curve in her ass and she was already wearing slim-fitting jeans. But damn, did those legs go on for days. 

Brienne Tarth was talking to an auburn-haired woman who was dressed more formally in a long-sleeved shirt that was the exact blue of Pod’s apron. Now she was a pretty one, though a bit too young for Jaime’s taste. He looked back at Brienne Tarth and her eyes found him.

And did not let go.

How did that happen? Jaime wondered, surprised. Round and the bluest of all the shades of blue he knew. They were more vivid than cornflower but not as grim as navy, brighter than electric—sapphires. Yes. Her eyes were the exact shade of brilliant sapphires. 

There was no way you could miss eyes like that. He had never seen anything like them before. And on such an unfortunate face: too many freckles, crooked nose, heavy, too-thick lips. Nevertheless, he felt something flutter in his stomach. It felt warm and tingling, the teasing touch of a lover. 

Tyrion asked Pod if they could talk to her. The young man nodded and left them. Turning back to Jaime, Tyrion remarked, “So. That’s her.”

“Yes,” Jaime said, his voice soft. His own voice sounded far away. He didn’t even feel the chair he was on. Brienne Tarth was no longer looking at him—she only happened to glance his way and that was disappointing, truth to be told. And annoying. Jaime Lannister only getting a _glance_?He would like to think that the deep red flush staining her cheeks was because of him. He hoped so. Really hoped so, he realized, startled with himself. She couldn’t be completely unaffected by him, right? Just look at her. 

So he did.

“Yes,” he repeated. Words have become a jumble and he struggled to string them together. In the end, all he could say was, “There she is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. I've begun a new series!


End file.
